Absolute Pleasure (The Sinful 2)

While he checked her identification and skimmed through what looked to be some kind of list on his handheld tablet, Elle’s gaze followed the long length of red carpet in front of her that led to the ornately decorated double doors that were open to the festivities inside. She could see many of the fairy-tale elements entwined with flora and fauna, an array of twinkling lights that added to the magical ambiance, and even recognized the sound of Raevynn Walsh’s voice—an up-and-coming pop star and the evening’s entertainment—singing her latest hit song.

Excitement unfurled inside of Elle, until her gaze came to a stop on the three women who were walking past the open doors—her stepmother and sisters—sipping champagne and laughing in a carefree manner, until Helena happened to casually glance out the entrance and spotted Elle.

As if she couldn’t believe her eyes, Helena came to an abrupt stop, causing her daughters to do the same . . . as well as follow their mother’s narrowing gaze. Elle saw the shock on Gwen’s and Claire’s faces, the increasing anger twisting her stepmother’s features, and a moment later, the trio was huddled together in conversation, clearly discussing Elle and her unexpected presence at the ball.

With the distance separating them, along with the music, Elle couldn’t hear what they were saying but assumed it was most likely mean and derogatory, considering how furious Helena looked. Elle knew it was inevitable that she’d run into them tonight but hadn’t been prepared for the blatant animosit

y from her stepmother when Elle had been invited to the gala.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the security guy said, bringing Elle’s attention back to him and the unyielding glint in his vivid brown eyes. “I can’t let you into the ball. Your name isn’t on the guest list.”

An awful uncertainty swirled in her stomach, and despite her best efforts, the self-assured smile on her lips faltered. “But as you’ve seen, I have the invitation, the envelope with my name on it, and you have my ID to confirm my identity.”

He shook his head as he handed the paperwork back to her. “I can only let in guests who’ve RSVP’d ahead of time. It’s a security issue. No exceptions.”

Elle’s stomach dropped and she could feel her face heat with humiliation as she put everything back into her small clutch purse. So much for Penelope’s brilliant idea. And now, with curious people watching, including her stepmother and sisters, she was being publicly banished from one of the most exclusive events of the year. God, could this moment be any more awkward and mortifying?

She turned to go, but not before she saw Helena’s gleeful smirk over the situation.

A myriad of emotions sliced though Elle, and she hated the tears of frustration that burned the back of her throat, but managed to keep them at bay and as much of her pride intact as possible. She’d only taken a few steps away from security and started reaching into her purse for her cell phone to call an Uber, since her driver had already left, when a man’s deep, commanding voice cut through the awful embarrassment surrounding Elle’s departure.

“Wait.”

The one word, spoken in an authoritative tone, reverberated through Elle’s entire body, and she instinctively obeyed the order and stopped, then turned around—and not just because she was a good girl who would never ignore someone with such obvious influence. No, her reasons for complying were inherently female and directly connected to something far more fundamental located at the very core of her sexual being that instinctively prompted her to respond to that strong, compelling male tone.

The sight of a devastatingly gorgeous man in a tuxedo striding toward her had Elle’s body flashing hot in awareness, but the downward pull of his full, sensual lips quickly doused her attraction like a bucket of cold water. Whoever the man was, he had an air of importance about him, which was solidified by the way the security guy regarded him with respect and a professional stance.

“Michael, is there an issue here?” the tuxedoed man demanded to know before shifting his direct, piercing golden-brown eyes to Elle.

Elle swallowed hard against the fluttering in her throat. The man was incredibly good-looking, with thick dark hair, chiseled features, and that intensely sexy gaze that should have made her nervous but instead made her weak in the knees. God, could this situation get any more demeaning? Was he going to berate her, too, before tossing her out? She wasn’t sure she could stand a double dose of being shamed.

“There is no issue, Mr. Wilder,” Michael said, providing Elle with the realization that the other gentleman was, indeed, very important. As in, one of the hosts of the Wilder Way ball.

The man’s gaze took in her face, then boldly flicked down to the soft swells of her breasts rising above the bodice of her gown before he returned to his conversation with Michael. Just that one brief look had her nipples tightening and aching against the fabric of her dress.

While Mr. Wilder’s expression had softened a bit, he was still blunt with his employee. “Then what is the problem? Why didn’t you let her through?”

“She provided an invitation and her identification, but her name wasn’t on the RSVP list, so I had to turn her away, which has always been standard protocol for these yearly events, sir.”

Elle was actually starting to feel bad for Michael, who was just trying to do his job, and she tried to smooth things over. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Wilder,” she said, and the mention of his name drew those seductive eyes back to her, making it difficult for her to think, let alone breathe properly. “There was a mistake with the invitation and the RSVP card,” she tried to explain. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone. I’m leaving.”

Before she could turn to go a second time, he stopped her once again.

“No,” he said, his tone uncompromising. “You’re staying.”

Shock rippled through Elle at the unexpected request. Or was it an order? Either way, she was stunned by his decision.

Michael sputtered. “But sir—”

Wilder waved a hand in the air to cut off his security guy. “She’s staying, Michael. As my guest,” he insisted, and that was that. Michael said no more.

Elle’s Prince Charming stepped forward until he was standing right in front of her, so close she could breathe in the scent of his woodsy cologne, could see the darkening of his golden eyes and the captivating smile now curving his lips that did crazy, arousing things to her female hormones. Authoritative and intense was an incredibly hot look on him, but this charismatic version gradually emerging had the ability to sweep her off her feet.

“I’m Hunter Wilder,” he introduced himself and tipped his head curiously. “And you are?”

So incredibly smitten. Elle’s tongue suddenly felt tied, and while he was the epitome of confident male sophistication, she had to struggle not to swoon like a Disney princess in front of him. “My name is Elle.”

He raised a dark brow. “And your last name?”